


The Best Apples are at the Tallest Part of the Tree

by Buggirl



Series: Ciara and Thom [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 23:25:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4324821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buggirl/pseuds/Buggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Ciara Adaar visits the Grand Tourney with her parents where she witnesses the victory of a young Thom Rainier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ciara bobbed her head. It didn’t require much for her to view above the teeming mass of people that surround her. At 8 years of age, and already 5 foot 10, her body tall, lean, all muscle and sinew she could easily be mistaken for a young human male.

Here at the Grand Tourney though, her horns and her long braid of dark blond hair, her childish feminine face marks her as a rare sight, a young female qunari.

She ignores the stares, too dazzled by the shine of the armour and the colours of the standards and flags that wave in the wind. She ignores the commentary. The insults and abuse directed her family’s way were muffled by the shouts and clanging of swords on shields. 

Her eyes widen, there were four left on the field, three men and a woman. Two of the men fight back to back and it’s obvious who was stronger and who was tactical. She watched both closely, admiring the deft youthful moves of the beardless man younger man and the technical way the older man manoeuvred, dodging blows skilfully from the woman’s mace. The older one of the two shouted what appeared to be instructions, but she couldn’t hear above the oohs and aahs from the voices around her. It didn’t take long; the woman was knocked down, and her downfall shortly followed by the third man who had been working alone. That left the two who were working together before the older man yielded to the younger without further fight. There was shouting and hoots and whooping, clapping and cheering.

The Grand Tourney finally had its champion.

Ciara turned rapidly from one parent to another, “Did you see that! Did you see that?”

“I did, Ciara. Did you observe how they worked together, how they fought?” Her father said. 

In no mood for a lesson, Ciara bounced up and down excitedly. She wished her parents had let her bring her sword or her axe, except her Mother had said their presence alone might be too intimidating. For qunari to have weapons might have seen them turned away at the gate.

“I can’t wait to swing my axe again!”

Ciara’s Mother laid a hand on the girls shoulder. “Perhaps in celebration, a new weapon is in order?”

“Oh yes! My Axe has countless chips in the blade it’s impossible to sharpen! Can we look for it now?”

There’s a roar from the crowd which follows the announcement of the Grand Tourney winner. He’s hoisted onto shoulders and she could see the young man clearly now, blood on his nose was smeared across his face, his dark hair was coming loose from the leather band. He held his sword aloft and the crowd cheered again. She’s amazed he was wearing only thickened leather armour and not metal like many of the other knights.

She ripped her gaze away from the Champion, “Can we look for it now?” she asked again.

“Later, Ciara. I hear there is dancing in the square.” He ran his finger across his wife’s jaw line.

Ciara wrinkled her nose. “Dancing? Why would you want to dance? Here of all places?”

“We enjoy dancing, Ciara, and we don’t have much of an opportunity at home,” her mother said.

Ciara fold her arms across her chest and a scowl crept across her face. “I don’t want to dance. I don’t like dancing.”

“Your brother loves dancing,” her father replied, “since--”

“He’s not here and I’m not him. And ugh, if he didn’t need something else to make him smell.”

Her mother sighed and reached into an oversize bag at her shoulder and pulled out a smaller hessian bag. “Here, you go to the marketplace, buy us a bag full of apples. They have the best fruit in the Free Marches so I’m told. We’ll meet you in an hour and we can inspect the axes together. Agreed?”

Ciara gave a reluctant nod.

“They might have chocolate too, you never know. Here’s coin, love. Don’t eat all the apples, or the chocolate,” her father smiled. He placed his arm around her and hugged her tightly. 

“I won’t, father.”

“And be careful, Ciara. These humans are never courteous to us,” her mother said.

“She’ll be fine. You can hold your own can’t you?” He bowed his head to meet Ciara’s gaze.

“It’s not her I’m worried about,” replied her mother.

Ciara scratched her head, blond strands coming loose from her braid. “I’ll be well-behaved, mother.” Her parents turned and headed for the square and when out of earshot Ciara muttered, “I’ll try anyways.” A cocky smile grew on her face and she skipped in direction of the market.

There were still plenty of people in the market place, shouting and yelling, loud laughing and chatter. It seemed odd to Ciara that they would be selling such food basics at such an event, but she guessed with such a small town, they would need extra fruit and vegetable to prepare meals for all those here for the Tourney. There were spices and here too, and cooking smells wafted over the whole market, both sweet and savoury. Ciara could smell cooking oil and fried doughnuts covered with sugar and cinnamon. 

Oblivious to the looks of passer-by’s, she breathed in the fragrant smells and headed straight for the doughnut stall. The stall-holder eyed her quizzically and asked her age as he prepared a fresh batch. When she told him, he smiled and with a slow disbelieving shake of his head placed three extra doughnuts in the bag. She grinned and thanked the man before heading to the fruit stall.

There were a mountain of strawberries, the smell strong enough you knew they would taste sweet and delicious. Oranges all the way from Rivain were so bright in colour they rivalled the dresses of the noble ladies perusing the market. There were, of course, barrels upon barrels of crunchy red Free Marches apples. Bright red with hints of green, nary a scar or a blemish and several still with stalk and leaf attached. Ciara asked to fill her bag and grabbed the last one from the open-mouthed stall-holder. She held her hand out with a few coins, but the stall-holder remained staring at her.

“Have you never seen a qunari before?” Ciara asked.

The stall-holder continued to stare and shook her head before taking the coin wordlessly.

“We don’t bite.” Ciara tried not to laugh or to call the human silly for being scared. She took the apple in her hand and bit into the crunchy fruit. The stall-holder took a step back, a weak smile crossed her startled face.

Ciara walked away still eating before stopping in the centre of the market place. Every bite of the apple loud enough that it drowned out the sounds around her. She closed her eyes and took in the sweetness of the flesh. She stood for a moment, taking large bites as people bumped and bustled against her. She didn’t mind.

Raucous laughter and shouting from a nearby laneway distracted her from her snack and she turned her head towards the noise. 

It’s the Champion! They were standing, ready to enter a busy tavern, a half dozen fighters and hangers on, men and women laughing and cheering. He was eating an orange, and as the juice dripped down the side of his face, a woman dabbed at his chin with a dainty handkerchief. She saw him kiss her and squeeze her behind, the woman squealed with delight and he laughed and kissed her again.

The owner and a strong-armed man were shoving drunks out the door. She made several more large bites of the apple before she dropped the core into the bag and headed towards the group.

The tavern keeper yelled. “One moment, Champion! I shall clear the room for you and your friends!”

She witnessed him shoving a protesting dwarf to the ground. He landed hard next to her and she grabbed his clammy hands and hauled him to his feet. He gawked up at her and his lips and chin began to tremble. “No! No!” he said as he stumbled away from her. He peered back once and Ciara gave him a cheery grin.

She shrugged and barged through the crowd beginning to surround the Champion. She wanted to meet and congratulate him and shake his hand, if he would allow.

“Champion,” she said. Her voice loud, clear and heard easily above the rabble. 

Thom Rainier, Grand Tourney Champion turned to face the voice who addressed him. His mouthed opened wide, and then snapped shut, the woman who had been in his embrace retreated behind him. He was out of his leather armour now, dressed in simple pants and a tunic that showed off his chest. Apart from a minute amount of juice on his lips, his face was clean. On closer inspection, Ciara noticed his broken nose.

“I-- I--” Ciara held her hand out to shake his.

He glanced down, smiled and grabbed her hand firmly. He shook it vigorously enough that her whole body vibrated.

“I would love to be in the Grand Tourney and fight similar to you.” Her eyes were bright and glossy and a rosy colour came to her cheeks. “The way you moved, fast and-- and everything!”

Thom released her hand and turned to his entourage, “You hear that? I even inspire the qunari!”

They all laughed, their attention drawn solely to him. “You realise that’s impossible though, don’t you?” He folded his arms in front of him.

Ciara bit her lip and her brow furrowed, “Why? I can fight and one day --”

“You’re a qunari. A savage, nothing more than a beast, they don’t let undomesticated brutes fight in the Grand Tourney,” Thom said. He puffed his chest out. “A qunari in the Tourney?” He turned to look at his supporters; all nodded their heads in agreement. “It will never happen. When it does, I expect that Andraste herself would have returned. Don’t get your hopes up boy--”

Ciara frowned, her nostrils flared it was only now she could smell the alcohol on his breath. She interrupted him before he could insult her further, “I am not a beast, or a savage. I bet I know more than you do. And I bet I’m a better fighter too,” she said.

There was added laughter from the group. One of the followers spoke, a large bearded man at the back. “This lad thinks he can fight you, Thom. Why don’t you show him? Give him a whipping and send him home, tail between his legs, or horns! The quicker you move to shut him down, the quicker we can all buy you another drink!” They all laughed at the man’s joke. 

Ciara glared at him and her lips pressed tight together.

Thom laid a hand on Ciara’s shoulder; she wasn’t much shorter than he was and they stood almost eye-to-eye. “Look lad, run along back to your Master, he perhaps can show you that your place isn’t here--”

She pushed his hand off her shoulder, “I have no Master and I am not a boy!” she sneered.

Gasps come from several in the group and Thom took a step back. He examined her from head to toe before coming back up and staring at her chest. His brow furrowed. He turned to the man next to him “A girl? I’m guessing maybe 10 years old?” He tilted his head. “What do you think, Seamus?” He said and nodded towards Ciara.

Seamus also took to staring at her chest and her posture stiffened at his gaze. She sniffed loudly, “I’m eight. And I can fight. And I will fight you. If I had a sword.”

“Makers Balls,” Seamus declared.

“Give me a sword,” she said.

Thom began to snort with laughter, his torrent of mirth infecting the others in the group. He bent down to hold his stomach and a hand went to his face to wipe away tears.

Ciara moved her hands to her hips, “What’s so funny? If you give me a sword, I will show you. I will fight you and you will be laughing on the other side of your face.” The voice of her mother played in her head that these humans were known to be unpleasant towards the qunari. However, her childish anger and desire to prove herself outweighed the tempering tones of her parents. She disliked being teased and mocked, especially by drunkards. It wasn't the first time.

Thom stood, his merriment slowly subsiding; he sniffed and tried hard not to break into laughter again. He shook his head. “Lass, you could not best me in a fight. You might believe otherwise, but you wouldn’t be right. I have no desire to fight a child. What you really need--” he pointed at her and shook his finger, “What you really need is someone to bear you across their knee and remind you of how you should act towards your elders. And the Champion of the Grand Tourney no less!”

Ciara stood defiant, “You’re scared.”

Thom’s laughter and humour in his eyes dwindled. “Oh come now, Lass, you’re going to spoil my mood. If they let savages in the tourney and you--” He once again stared at her chest and the group sniggered, “grow a little. Maybe, you could even fight me. I’d have to be very old and decrepit of course.” He stood solid in the face of her defiance, “For now, run along and play we have no time for your game here.”

The tavern owner began gesticulating wildly at the group, “Come, come! Welcome, we have plenty for you Champion and all your friends!”

Ciara remained steadfast, as the group, including the Champion Thom Rainier, turned to enter the tavern.

She fished in her hessian bag and pulled out the apple core. She aimed it carefully and it hit the back of Thom’s head. 

He turned and frowned at her. “Lass--”

Ciara held her head high a bold smile across her lips, “You’re not a Champion -- you’re -- you’re -- you’re a git! And one day I will show all of you.” She fished in her bag for an apple and aimed once again for his head, and threw it hard. This time he caught it, laughed, took a bite, gave her a wink and a nod, and entered the tavern without further words.

Ciara huffed loudly and crossed her arms over her chest. “Git,” she muttered.

The bouncer who had been focussing on removing drunks clomped over to her and motioned for her to leave. “No animals allowed.”

She glared at him before kicking him hard in the shin and running back to the marketplace.

Fifteen minutes later Ciara’s parents found her, shoulders hunched, sitting quietly on a bench, her face resting in one hand and dragging a stick back and forth in the dirt at her feet.

Her parents sat down either side of her on the bench.

“What happened, Ciara?” Her mother asked.

Ciara shook her head, “Nothing.”

“That look on your face says otherwise,” her father said.

“Just humans. You were right, mother. They weren’t very considerate. Even when you think they will be. The man at the doughnut stall gave me three extra doughnuts though.” Her face brightened at that.

Ciara’s father nudged her. “It’s disappointing I understand. It tells you that you need to be wary of these humans. Unless they give you extra doughnuts of course. Then you can pretend not to be so scary.”

Ciara giggled, “I bought apples too. And I didn’t eat them all. I ate all the doughnuts though.”

“Of course you did. Why don’t we shop for that axe we promised you? The tournament is over now and the weapons stalls will be closing up before it becomes too dark to sell their wares.” Her mother placed a hand on Ciara’s bouncing knee.

She nodded and they all stood.

“I hope you didn’t antagonise anyone, Ciara,” her mother said.

Ciara shook her head, “No. They would have set their dogs on me otherwise.”

Her parent’s expression meant they were likely contemplating further questioning. Her mother set her jaw and tightened her lips, her father’s chin jutted like it always did when he didn’t believe her. A tug at their sleeves and Ciara jumping up and down noisily was enough to encourage them to wordlessly consent to head to the weapons market despite their doubts about their daughters explanations. Ciara laughed and locked her arms into theirs.

Ciara knew they’d have to pass the tavern on the way. She gripped her parent’s arms tighter as they got closer. At the tavern door, the strongman who she kicked earlier, stood like a rigid steel rod. He only glanced briefly at them as they passed. However, when recognition dawned over his dull face, he glared at Ciara menacingly. Her parents failed to notice his stare and after they stepped well past the tavern door, Ciara peeked back towards him and poked out her tongue.


	2. Epilogue

You could feel the warmth as soon as you entered the tavern. The sheer amount of bodies squashed inside made for instant heat. People were laughing, women cackling, men shouted to each other from across the room and there’s a smell of strong malty ale. Thom sat with a young woman on his lap. She rubbed his arm and he stared at her ample bosom. He’d be buried face first in those tits later, he thought, and possible a second woman if he she were keen. He laughed. Of course they’d be keen, he’s the fucking Grand Tourney Champion!

The woman fidgeted, “Oooh what’s this?” she said and squirmed. She pulled out the apple that the qunari child had thrown at him earlier. Her eyes widened and she took a tiny bite, “Where did this come from? It’s delicious!”

Thom took it from her hand. It was smooth and bright red, perfect except for the two bites. He rolled it in his hand. His eyes glistened as he remembered something, “When the Maker ripens apples, he isn't in a hurry and doesn't make a noise.”

The woman’s brow furrowed, “What does that mean, Thom?”

He pursed his lips, “it means --,” He turned the apple in his hand again, took another bite and shook his head, “It means nothing, Janey.” He gazed into her eyes and hoped for Andraste’s sake that Janey was her name, although by now he didn’t much care.

She wiggled in his lap, “Why don’t we head upstairs. Lotte said she’d join us.” She waved at a dark haired woman sitting a table over.

He swallowed the rest of the apple in his mouth and let the remainder of the fruit roll from his hand. He hoisted Janey over his shoulder reached for Lotte’s hand and the three of them ascended the tavern stairs.

Behind them, the apple spun on the table several times before coming to a stop.


End file.
